


SPOCKIAN MEDICAL TREATMENT

by lilsmartass



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Broken Bones, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, pre slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt: Reboot: Kirk breaks his arm on an away mission, Spock has to set it. Potentially very slight medical horror. Nothing graphic though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SPOCKIAN MEDICAL TREATMENT

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hope this fills the prompt appropriately. I realise it’s more hurt!Jim than Spockian medical treatment. Unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine. Italics are Jim’s thoughts. I hope the way they sometimes interrupt narrative sentences makes sense to people.  
> Disclaimer: Wouldn’t be posting on a fanfiction meme if I owned it.  
> Rating: PG, some very mild description of injuries.  
> Warnings: Nothing. Kirk and Spock friendship/pre-slash

Even Jim Kirk’s indefatigable optimism was running out when he finally rolled to a stop against a large boulder. The planet they were surveying had no dangerous natives, no vicious animals and no invading aggressive lien species. What it did have however, were communications disrupting thunderstorms caused by the unusual electrical patterns in the lightning.

As soon as one such storm had rolled in of course the landing party had been recalled. But beaming the party through the clouds had caused the transporter to, in Scotty’s words in the last, somewhat crackly transmission they had received, “Gae on the fritz Capt’n.” So now it was just Kirk and Spock stuck down here.

Spock had suggested they try to reach higher ground. It had been a good idea so Jim had, unhesitatingly agreed. This was their third such attempt. The hill they had found was perfect, it was high and Spock’s tricorder, before the electrical interference had caused it to spark unhappily and die along with their communicators, had told them there were overhanging rock formations at the summit. They had been eagerly making for them to get out of the driving rain, but said driving rain had made the terrain underfoot slippery and dangerous.

Even Starfleet issue boots were having trouble getting and maintaining a grip in the slick mud. S Jim could attest to. This was the third time a misstep had caused him to slide back to the bottom of the hill. He rubbed his aching head. This was like playing snakes and ladders only for real, and with a slidy hill in a thunderstorm instead of a snake, and no ladders in sight.

“Are you injured Captain?” Spock’s voice called down from where he _and yes, Bones is right he **is** a pointy eared bastard _had kept his footing on the treacherous ledge.

Jim rolled his eyes and sighed, neither of them looked their best right now. Even his immaculate first officer was drenched and covered in mud, now would be the perfect time to drop protocol and call him by name. He called a vague affirmative back to his officer and pushed his arm against the rock against which he was leaning to stand, bleakly contemplating _yet another_ try at the hill.

With abrupt suddenness, the world went grey, with bright pinpricks of agony shooting through it. He heard someone _shit, that’s me!_ Scream and then time must have passed because the next thing he knew Spock was approaching him and crouching down, kneeling in the mud at eye level.

“Captain?”

“You should stand up Spock, you hate being muddy and wet,” Jim said, blurting out the first thing he could think of to cover the fact that he had just screamed like a prepubescent girl and fainted. He wasn’t sure whether to hope for the humiliation of having done such a thing, in front of a Vulcan no less, over no more than a sprained wrist, or to hope that it was nothing too serious.

Spock blinked. “I am, as you say Captain, already wet and muddy. I must see your injuries.”

Jim thought. It seemed like an embarrassingly long time before his brain condescended to inform him that nowhere except his arm hurt.

“Captain?” Spock prompted again.

Although Spock hadn’t changed expression Jim had the definite feeling he was worried. “Sorry Spock, the world’s a little...far away if you know what I mean.”

“You are going into shock Captain, and your body temperature will drop to within danger levels in this environment if you lose consciousness. You must stay awake and allow me to treat your injuries.”

Jim nodded. _That makes sense, and even if it didn’t Spock said it so it probably does have a logical basis._ “It’s my arm Spock. Nothing else hurts...I don’t think.”

Spock did make an expression at the last part, a very slight frown marring his features but he said nothing beyond, “Allow me to see your arm Captain.”

“Jim.”

“As you wish Captain.”

Jim rolled his eyes but did attempt to bring his still-throbbing right arm towards the Vulcan. Another bright flash of ice cold agony made him grit his teeth against another screech and he twisted his waist to seize the bunched shirt around the elbow with his left and drag the now useless limb into his lap.

The pain of doing so made him nauseous and when he could open them again he found Spock regarding a twisted, misshapen, bruised and obviously broken thing. It had fingers at the end, and was wearing the sleeve of a gold command shirt. Other than that, it did not look the slightest bit like an arm.

“It is broken,” Spock commented.

Jim wished, not for the first time, that he could raise just one eyebrow. “Really? I don’t know why we keep Bones around with you on the job.”

Spock ignored him, which was a pity because Jim could really have used the banter to keep his mind of the throbbing pain that began at the wrist and ended somewhere inside his skull.

Spock’s fingers gently skimmed over _the arm, I cannot even think about that being attached to me or I’ll be sick, on Spock, and then we’ll never have an epic bromance or whatever._ Jim couldn’t help notice how cold Spock’s fingers felt compared to his usual temperature.

“Are you OK?” he asked, Spock looked up in mild surprise, “You’re cold.”

Spock looked back down, fingers still running over Jim’s skin, “I am fine Captain. I am regulating my autonomic functions to maintain my body temperature, though I estimate I can only do so for another 3.6 hours, you on the other hand are rapidly entering a hypothermic state.” He paused for a second and then said, “The bone is broken in several places, though it has not pierced the skin.”

Jim opened his mouth _I need a plan because I’m the Captain and I need to make a command decision about what I am going to do next._ Nothing came out. The world seemed to have slowed down even further. He could think of nothing beyond the mind twisting agony, even the rain and cold seemed less intense.

“We have no choice but to continue up to the summit of this feature if we are to have any chance of being pulled out by the _Enterprise_ before the storms end.”

The mere thought of walking made Jim dry heave, but Spock kindly ignored it.

“A simple sling will be insufficient as the pieces of bone may move and cause internal damage. I will need to splint it.”

Jim opened his mouth to reply _go ahead, I trust you implicitly, old you said so_ “Can you?”

“I would not have offered if I could not Captain.”

Jim nodded, and Spock stood smoothly, brushed at the knees of his trousers, smearing sticky red mud all over his hands and went in search of a long branch. When he returned he crouched before Jim once again and reached for his own shirt.

“No,” said Jim, clinging to his lucidity by the faintest thread, “Use my trousers, they’re shredded anyway.”

“Captain, I can regulate my body temperature whereas you-”

“These aren’t keeping me warm Spock, look at them.”

Spock looked and, sighing in that very slight oh-so-Vulcan way of his, nodded. Jim knew Spock’s quick capitulation was a sign of his own coldness though and knew that the lack of a new spike of concern was a testament to his own injury.

Within seconds, the material had been efficiently shredded into long durable strips. Spock laid a stick against Jim’s arm. “Ready Captain?”

Jim smiled weakly, “On three?”

“I do not understand that reference,” said Spock, calmly jerking the bones back into alignment with one tug and beginning to wind the material around Jim’s arm and the piece of wood.

It was too painful even to scream that time, though he did manage to hack up a mouthful of bile and whimper in a pitiful fashion as he sat, sweating and shaking. At last it was done, and Spock wound an arm around Jim’s waist to get him on his feet.

“Come on Captain.”

The walk passed in a grey haze that Jim didn’t even remember. He knew he had kept his feet, remembered clinging to the thought that he did not want to be beamed up being carried like a child, everyone already commented on how young he was, but he remembered nothing of it.

Later, he was told that they had been beamed aboard by Scotty 10 minutes after achieving the summit. The engineer had known they would work out to aim for the high ground and had had sensors locked continuously on to the flat plateau. And Jim didn’t care what Bones had to say about transporters. He wasn’t complaining about them when they had beamed him out of the rain and within range of some decent painkillers.


End file.
